


Scenes From a Mission: Quinniul II

by ssleif



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Erica/Boyd if you squint, F/M, Gen, M/M, Mentions of General Oragana, Mentions of Luke Skywalker, Other, abuse of commas, general discussion of Jedi themes, mentions of Kyle Katarn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-08-07 10:29:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7711528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ssleif/pseuds/ssleif
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“They’re sending us on a culturally-sensitive peacekeeping mission with a low risk of combat to allow the padawans a relatively safe opportunity to begin to perform the duties of Jedi Knights, and be challenged as a team.”</p><p>“... on a vacation at a party in the woods.”</p><p>OR Why Jedi Master Stiles Stilinski Refuses to go Back to Quinniul, but Master Hale Thought it was Pretty Much Okay</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scenes From a Mission: Quinniul II

**Author's Note:**

> For the Sterek Summer Spectacle, Round 2: Adaptations!
> 
> Sarcasm & Sourwolves went with a Star Wars fusion!  
> [darkenednights](darkenednights.tumblr.com)/[blindinglights](http://archiveofourown.org/users/blindinglights)' beautiful edit/picspam for this [ lives here on tumblr! ](http://sterekshelter.tumblr.com/post/148651855230/scenes-from-a-mission-quinniul-ii-sterek-summer)
> 
> This is set a couple of decades after the end of Return of the Jedi, and is inspired more by the EU/Legends universe than by current canon.

 

“... So they’re sending us on vacation, is what I’m hearing.”

Derek rolled his eyes, knowing, after their many _many_ years of being partners (both in the Force and out of it), that Stiles was _deliberately_ ignoring things in order to get a reaction from him.

“They’re sending us on a _culturally-sensitive peacekeeping mission_ with a low risk of combat to allow the padawans a relatively safe opportunity to begin to perform the duties of Jedi Knights, and be challenged as a team.”

“... on a vacation at a party in the woods.”

Derek sighed, but didn’t contradict him.

It was their first real mission for Luke and the New Republic since taking on Scott McCall, so it made sense that it would be a milk run. As the green-blue planet came into view ahead of them, and Stiles left the cockpit to go rouse the padawans, Derek was thankful... And, honestly, just a little anticipatory of what looked like it might be a nice, maybe even relaxing, keep-the-peace mission.

Not that he was going to admit as much to Stiles.

Quinniul II was the second planet in the Quinniul system, the only one capable of supporting life without any kind of terraforming, and it had a troubled history (that was actually not particularly unusual). Like large swaths of the galaxy, it had been under the control of the Empire until the Battle of Yavin IV, destruction of the second Death Star, and the death of the Emperor. Though the Empire’s leadership had been all but destroyed, along with a staggering chunk of their military strength, they hadn’t exactly disappeared over night— In addition to re-establishing a loose federation of planets, and helping Luke find force-sensitive folks for his new Jedi Praxeum, and eventually a new academy, what remained of the Rebel Alliance still had their work cut out for them ferreting out pockets of Imperial command and freeing the systems they had control of.

Unfortunately, the former-rebels had been finding that, in some places, removing the Imperial leash seemed to have done a little more harm than good.

Quinniul II was one of those places.

In the decades (and centuries) before Palpatine took control of the Republic and exterminated the Jedi, Quinniul II had already been undergoing massive intervention by the Senate and it’s Jedi task forces. Quinniul II had been in the midst of a civil war, which had gone on long enough that the majority of the population didn’t actually have any idea why they were on the sides they were on anymore. While the Republic and the Jedi had been reluctant to intervene too heavily, to impose their idea of how a planet should work, the Empire had had no such reservations. As soon as it had the strength and the reach, Imperial ships had landed and handily subdued the population in a matter of days.

Quinniul II, whose chief export was lumber (specifically Brylark wood, the only wood in the galaxy that was as strong as metal), had quickly become a jewel in the Imperial crown, and as long as there was sufficient Imperial power on the ground to keep the population under control, it was one of the more lucrative planets the Empire had control of.

The Imperial power had been excised from the planet, largely by General Organa, three and a half years prior, and tensions had immediately heightened in the population again. The General (and her advisers, particularly the force-sensitive ones) had had sense enough to set up a democratic government and start it off with a member of each side in the ruling office, but their focus had needed to shift elsewhere, and so the people had to be left to rule themselves.

War hadn’t broken out yet, a fact for which many were grateful, but tensions were very high. It was summer on Quinniul II’s most populated continent, and for the first time in decades, the capital city was going to hold a massive ceremony and celebration, honoring a particular holy day that both sides of the old conflict had in common, but had had to put aside during the Imperial occupation. The new Quinniul II government had submitted a request to the New Republic for a team to come oversee security at the cultural event, because threats had been made, anonymously.

The threats were nonspecific, as far as Derek knew (as far as his briefing said), but just to be on the safe side, the New Republic had passed the situation onto Luke at the Jedi Praxeum. Luke had determined the threat strong enough to warrant sending someone, but tame enough to allow sending padawans, and very new padawans at that. Derek was a little apprehensive, and had spent a good chunk of time that morning meditating (unsuccessfully) before relieving Stiles from the controls.

Derek, since Master Kyle Katarn had pulled him from the smoldering wreckage of his family and his life, had always found the present the easiest to deal with. He was good with people, with events, with the moment. He was rarely caught off-guard because he was hyper-vigilant and perpetually mindful of the currents and eddies around him. For a time, that served him well, allowing him to focus as he trained, to be present, to move through his apprenticeship with excellent speed and control. It made him great in a fight, but it also limited him over the long-haul, and his greatest anxieties came from not knowing what was in store, and finding it difficult to access that part of the force.

And then Katarn took on Stiles.

Luke had been approached by a local Sheriff, while he was planet-side on Denbor IX searching for force-sensitives, who thought his son was ill. Sheriff John Stilinski explained that his son, Stiles, had always been a strange child, slim and pale and sometimes otherworldly. It hadn’t bothered the Stilinskis, however. His wife, especially, had been able to connect with her son in a way few others could. Many times, the Sheriff had come home after putting in a full day, to find the two of them flat on their backs in the grass, cloud-watching. They didn’t speak, or point, but their eyes would travel together, in perfect synchronicity, spotting the same formations, smiling at the same time.

It was this way in many aspect of their lives, and the Sheriff had asked his wife about it, sometimes, but she always just replied the she and Stiles spoke the same language.

And it was fine. Wonderful even.

And then she had died. Stiles was with her, when she passed, and the fact that the Sheriff was not was a source of deepest sadness and regret for him, not least because when she passed, Stiles went into a coma he couldn’t be woken from for weeks.

After he finally came out of it, he was different. He went too fast, changed subjects with such alarming speed that few could follow him. He couldn’t sit still, always had to be moving, twisting, climbing, thinking, talking, doing… and if he was at the same task for too long, something was bound to get broken. He would go fast and hard through life, and then he would crash, exhausted, unconscious often, or zoned out, for unpredictable periods of time.

And it only got worse as he aged. By the time Luke was visiting their planet, and the Sheriff saw the opportunity to pull the legend aside and ask after his healing abilities, (of which Luke didn’t really have any, but the stories had started and he was hard-pressed to put a stop to it) Stiles’ lucid, manic periods were fewer and farther between, and most of the times when he was conscious, he was also zoned out, staring at the sky, or a leaf, or his own hand, non-responsive to anyone and everyone. Many healers and doctors had taken a look at him, but none had been able to offer an explanation.

Luke could.

Immediately, Luke had been able to feel Stiles’s strong connection to the Force, and had quickly guessed at the source of his trouble. Luke was able to lead him back to the present, away from the deep, all-encompassing submergence in the Force he’d been experiencing.

When Stiles opened his eyes and looked at Luke, he’d cried.

Luke explained to John (as both Kyle and Stiles himself had later explained to Derek) that Stiles was force-sensitive and that, more than likely, the periods of mania were Stiles’ attempts to focus on the physical world, to ignore the call of the Force, and that when he exhausted himself doing that, he would be unable to resist, and then the zone-outs would happen. Those were the times when Sties completely lost himself to the Force, to the current, traveling far away, likely even into other possible futures, and was unable to bring himself back.

It was a condition that could probably be managed, Luke thought, and that was likely what John’s wife had been doing her whole life, without really knowing the word for what she was... but more than that, it could be trained.

And so, Stiles became a padawan.

Eventually, due to the perpetual scarcity of Jedi Knights and Masters, or really anyone with any kind of training, Stiles and Derek were assigned to the same Master. And they found that they complemented each other unbelievably well.

 _The Force guides us, indeed._ Derek thought.

Together, they were a team with both foresight and pragmatics, skill and power, experience and enthusiasm. Mind-to-mind speech came easily; they were using their training bonds with their Master to pick fights with each other even before they decided they liked each other. Additionally, it was a damn good thing that Luke was uninterested in the more ascetic elements of Traditional Jedi Behavior, and that they were such quick learners, because there quickly developed some things their Master really had no interest in over-hearing, mentally or aurally.

They underwent the trials back-to-back, and from that point on, though they were both Knights and independently highly competent, it was generally assumed that if you got one, you got both.

Which is why Jedi Master Hale was currently piloting his ship onto the landing pad of the Quinniul II Capitol building and listening to the hubbub of activity caused by four teenage padawans and his partner attempting to become presentable enough for Affairs of State.

_May the Force be with us._

 

Second Primacy Assistant Quel-Alet Lanctor (as he introduced himself every time he encountered someone) got them all settled into a modest cabin, just inside the tree line of the forest surrounding the city. There had been some discussion of putting them up in the parliamentary building, and of who would need to be relocated to make room, but Stiles had insisted they would be fine wherever there was space… which turned out to be nowhere near the actual city center.

It was fine by Derek; he liked the woods better anyway. They reminded him of home, in a way that was good these days.

It was about a week from the date of the celebration, so the Jedi had plenty of time to prepare (and be seen), and continue training their motley crew of apprentices, before anything drastic was likely to occur. And it was a motley crew.

There was Erica: acquired as pre-teen when her control over her connection to the Force was so unstable it was literally causing her body to seize, now a bronzed goddess of a Twi’lek completely aware of the power she held _outside_ of the Force, and completely willing to use it (and her wit) to get whatever response she was looking for.

There was Boyd: Stiles and Derek found him on a backwater planet on the Outer Rim (which was supposed to be uninhabited by anything sentient) completely alone and, even now, unwilling to discuss why, almost non-verbal and clearly surviving only because of his strong sensitivity to other life forms, now an acerbic mountain of a padawn, slow to do or say anything, but completely determined when he did, whose greatest struggle seemed to be in letting himself be known by the people in this training bond.

There was Isaac: Derek and Stiles’ first apprentice, rescued from Baaccia-Eil, where his parental ancestor had been doing his best to beat the Force out of the boy, and Isaac had been on the very fine edge of losing what little control he had and causing a lot of people, including himself, a lot of pain… Now a calm and often caring young man, with unending empathy, a sharp instinct for character, a convincing mask of aloof disdain, and a newfound (new since Erica started... starting things) interest in experimenting with different looks.

(“Come on, Derek, what happened to ‘respect all life forms’?”

“That mustache is not a life form, Stiles, it’s an abomination which will bring shame to the Jedi Order”.)

And finally, Scott McCall: their newest padawan, Stiles had felt (and so Derek had also felt, through their bond, even though he’d been on a separate mission at the time) an immediate sympathy for Scott’s situation. Scott had been experiencing force-visions, all the time, and was so terrified by them that he was on the verge of making some very big mistakes, as well as being vulnerable to anyone who could help him, no matter what their true intentions.

Stiles, due to the sensitive nature of the situation, had intervened immediately, and probably not a moment too soon... Or so they guessed later, sensing the presence of a completely dark force-user, and hearing the stories Melissa told of a man with a strange smile, and strange eyes, who’d been following them for the last week, watching Scott. In the end, Melissa had persuaded Scott that the best place for him might be with teachers who understood what was happening to him and could help him understand and learn to use his gifts. Scott wasn’t so sure they were gifts, nor was he entirely comfortable with leaving his mother behind, but he did, eventually, leave with the young Master.

He was finally getting a hold on his visions, Derek and Stiles thought, and starting to lose his fear of them.

It would be his first mission, so the extra training time was going to be very nice indeed.

As soon as the Official disappeared, there was an immediate, but silent, squabble between the apprentices over who roomed where. There was a moderately sized living space, with amenities to allow for the preparation and consumption of meals, a decent sized ‘fresher with both water and sonics, a small-ish room, clearly intended for sleeping, with it’s own small ‘fresher ( “With a bath! Derek, do you realize how long it’s been since I had an actual bath? We’ve been on Yavin IV sooo long, and Luke might not think he’s ‘rejecting material needs’ but he was also raised on a fucking desert planet and has no idea how necessary _baths_ are…”), and a larger sleeping chamber with a series of pallets in different sizes, and hooks for hammocks, depending on the physiology and comfort of the guests, and small half-partitions between some of them.

Derek and Stiles, Honorable Masters and Partners that they were, got the more private chamber, of course, but Erica immediately set about securing herself the largest bed at the end of the room behind a partition, citing her status as the only female as the reason for the greater privacy (and comfort). Scott seemed ready to defer to her, but then Isaac piped up, pointing out that this was the same argument that she’d used to win the best bed on the last mission, didn’t she remember, a mission that ended with Isaac learning how to enter a healing trance in order to combat the hundreds of insect bites he’d acquired (and been allergic to) from the nest that had turned out to be under the bed, and so it was definitely his turn (Stiles had attempted to use that situation as an example of a time when being calm and mindful of their surroundings would have enabled them to sense the densely-clustered life-forms and avoid the entire situation, but that didn’t seem to be the lesson they were intent on taking away from the situation).

Finally Boyd joined the conversation, pointing out that, since his species didn’t even _have_ females, her entire argument was moot, and he was the biggest, so it was his turn.

He won. (He almost always won, if he decided to participate at all.)

Once the decision had been made, and everyone had dropped their packs off in their respective sleeping areas, Stiles insisted everyone get changed into fresh clothing, more appropriate for the pleasant warmth and slight humidity of summer than the cold, dry, perpetual winter of space. As soon as they’d all done so, he herded them back towards the metropolis.

“With the celebration coming, their holiest of days being observed officially and on a large scale for the first time in decades, merchants, performers, and peddlers across this solar system and some of the neighboring ones have been pouring in to throw a month-long festival and market,” Stiles gushed, clearly torn between rushing headlong down the hillside and keeping his facade of the Calm and Competent Jedi Master. “I’ve been hearing about it as far away as Oreal Gulch!”

“Do we know what this holiday even is?” Erica asked, successfully regaining her mask of aloof indifference after the humiliating loss of the bed argument.

“A remembrance of the dead, isn’t it?” Scott asked. Derek was gratified to see that _someone_ had been paying attention when he had attempted to brief them all in transit.

“Yes,” Derek confirmed “it is.”

“… don’t most cultures who observe celebrations like that choose to do it during their winter?” Isaac queried, the disdain on his face clearly suggesting that he thought this planet had a screw loose.

“Actually,” Derek started, and saw Stiles smile, seeing the look of regret cross Isaac’s face at the teaching tone Derek automatically fell into, “many, if not more, cultures seem to celebrate the dead during their summer or spring, if they have one. Many celebrations honoring the dead involve sacrifices of food, or holding large feasts, which is much easier during months with active food production happening. Even some of the celebrations you are likely thinking of as being winter celebrations, actually started at the end of the harvest season, or at a solstice or equinox, and were eventually set on a certain date, which often moved into winter based on calendar irregularities. Most of the death remembrance holidays that actually, deliberately, take place in winter are in cultures where part of the rituals involve actual corpses, and so are least unpleasant the colder the remains are.”

Erica made a disgusted face that was mirrored in Scott’s. Isaac looked curious, and a bit abashed, and Boyd… looked the way he usually did.

“See all the things there are to learn in this great galaxy?” Stiles chipped in, smiling around at the padawans and promptly tripping over his own feet and a root. Derek caught him, muttering under his breath about fully grown Master Force-users who never learned to be mindful of the present ground under their feet. Stiles smiled up at him, a depth of feeling there that Derek didn’t think he would ever get used to, and Derek righted him and shooed him on his way.

“Anyway,” Stiles continued, picking up the thread of Derek’s lecture, “This particular culture, or cultures, actually, because the planet’s not completely unified, despite both the many years of religious suppression under Imperial rule _and_ the extensive loss of life due to both the Empire and their own warfare, had a reason for holding their Hallowed Dead’s celebration in their summer that... sounds like a Jedi was involved, actually.

“Traditionally, they explicitly aimed for the warmest days of their summer and threw the largest most energetic festival they could, in order to remind the dead who were watching exactly what it was like to be alive. They sought to balance out the cold, gray, sameness of death with the warm, colorful, excitement of life. Festivities, dancing, feasting, playing, and sex were all at their high point during this celebration. The final night, their Hallowed night, there was a procession starting on the outskirts of the town. People wishing to take part would paint their faces and dress themselves in remembrance of a loved one or family member, traditionally who had passed since that last festival, and walk the procession as if they were the one who died. For centuries, cities and towns here have been built in concentric circles or spirals, rather than grids, to facilitate this one celebration, to allow the procession to start on the edge of town and walk every single street, until they reach the government building, or sometimes palace, at the city center.”

Stiles paused a moment, losing some of his wide-eyed enthusiasm, taking a more solemn tone.

“Part of the reason this particular instance of the ceremony is so significant, is that it’s the first time the government and the people have felt able to celebrate since… well, since the Empire took over.” Stiles paused again, looking thoughtful.

“I would guess,” Derek interjected, giving Stiles a moment to collect himself, “that they are going to be remembering far more people than the ones whom they lost in the last calendar year.”

Stiles nodded.

“Which is the other reason the government is preparing for trouble. This was always, traditionally, a relatively happy event: a celebration not a mourning… but it seems likely it will probably be hard to stay happy, on the last night.”

“And,” Boyd added, “Most of the residents and guests of the capitol will all be gathered in the center of the city, around the governmental buildings.”

“Oh,” Scott whispered, verbalising the reaction Erica and Isaac were also having, “a really easy target, if someone wanted to restart a war.”

“And there you have it,” Stiles agreed.

The group continued down the hill, and started through the outermost dwellings on the edge of the town. They were quiet, feeling the weight and complexity of the situation on the planet. Derek was himself troubled by the difficulty of the situation for the people, but he was also grateful for the opportunity to help, and to expose their apprentices to such a unique situation. Of course, most missions _were_ unique in some way, but this one in particular felt, in the moment, like a very good fit for their little team.

And he knew Stiles agreed.

He opened his mouth, turning to Isaac to follow up on the nuance of this situation, in comparison to some other missions they’d been on, and then Felt everyone’s surprise, and Stiles’ excitement, through their bonds, as the market was suddenly in sight.

  
  
  
“Wha… what is she wearing?” Scott whispered to Isaac, staring, and trying to make it look like he wasn’t, at a tall Quinniulian girl made all the taller by the colorful, strappy boots that seemed to tie onto her body at about hip level. And were the only thing she seemed to be wearing, other than paint. (Erica kind of looked like it was too much, even for her, and also kind of looked like she wanted her own pair.)

“I don’t know, Scott, would you rather she wasn’t wearing them?”

“I…” Scott was blushing in a way Jedi really weren’t supposed to do in public. “I’m not sure.”

Derek shook his head, and mentally nudged all three padawans forward, away from that particular spectacle, quietly suggesting that they find another to stare at. Boyd was a few meters further down the street, inspecting a collection of wooden fetishes and ornaments, without touching. Derek looked around for Stiles, having trouble spotting him through the swirling, colorful crowds, not even sure he’d be able to pick out his voice over the melodic cacophony of singing, playing, dancing, and bartering. Derek saw the padawans get side-tracked watching a group of performers on a slightly raised dais switch smoothly from a tumbling routine into one that seemed to involve standing mostly straight, and making an improbable amount of loud, rhythmic noise with their feet.

Focusing on his bond with Stiles, Derek sent out a little mental ping, and trusting his padawans were all thoroughly distracted for the moment, followed the echoing ping towards where Stiles should be.

He found him, eventually, between a stand selling large, shiny, purple vegetables, and a stand selling some kind of fried dough covered in sweetener (honey, he thought maybe, presuming there were species of pollinating insects on this planet that made and stored such a substance… it sure smelled like honey). Derek drew closer, and scowled, slamming his hand down onto Stiles’ shoulder.

“No.”

“But Derek.”

“No.”

“Come on, I love them! You can drink from them and it’s the coolest thing! And we haven’t been on a planet that had them since we first picked up Scott!”

Derek glared, and the merchant who had been about to take Stiles’ currency (and exchange it for a couple of large, fuzzy-brown seeds) made herself suddenly scarce.

“And you know exactly why we haven’t gotten any since then.”

Derek could vividly remember, three months earlier, the bright, surprising flare of pain and spray of blood as Scott look-at-that-adorable-life-form McCall forgot he was using the unusually large seeds to practise force-levitation and accidentally shot one off. Into Derek’s nose. It had taken three days of healing trances before he stopped looking like some kind of nocturnal rodent, and he still wasn’t sure he’d gotten his nose back straight.

“But-”

“No. No more. How about a nice, soft fruit, like that pink one over there.”

Stiles grumbled a bit, and Derek thought he caught the phrase “such a sour Jedi”.

“So get me something sweet then. But _nothing dangerous_.”

Stiles sighed, but Derek could Feel his acquiescence. Deciding he’d left the children (and they would always be children to him, he thought, despite the fact that Boyd’s species aged slower than his and that the young padawan had actually been in existence, objectively, for roughly the same amount of time as Stiles had) unsupervised long enough, and that their training bonds with him were suspiciously quiet.

He heard, in between the crashing of metal tubes that he thought was supposed to be music, Erica’s high, unrestrained laugh, and, dodging another of the small, furry creatures with wet noses that also seem ubiquitous on this planet, he hurried back to her.

 

They did, eventually, have to do real work.

The next day, by the time the padawans awoke, Derek was gone and Stiles had decided on some excellent exercises to begin the day with. The padawans asked after Derek, and Stiles knew it was as much genuine concern as it was an attempt to distract him from assigning them tasks they didn’t want to perform.

First, Stiles pointed out the stream that ran along the base of their little mountain, eventually feeding into the river that wound along the lowest edge of the city, before heading out of the mountains. He suggested that a nice morning run and a dip in the stream would feel lovely.

They knew it was not a suggestion.

Once they returned, panting a little but undeniably awake, he sent them back, remarking that breakfast would cook much faster with a little more wood…

Knowing the drill, they all four jogged back and crossed the stream, filled their arms with deadfall, and returned.

Stiles had them repeat the exercise until they were all covered in sweat and he could see their movements slowing with fatigue.

So he let them rest, and eat for a few minutes.

And then they sparred.

Their ship had been comfortable enough, but there hadn’t been much in the way of extra space suitable for physical exercise, So Stiles and Derek had focused on mental exercises, Force exercises, meditation and education while they flew.

Stiles smiled to himself, wondering if any of them had realised that that ‘reprieve’ was going to mean they had to step-up the physical training once they were planet-side.

Derek came back in the early afternoon with news. Stiles could, of course, feel him coming for long minutes before he actually appeared, but the padawans were all thoroughly distracted. With the advent of Scott’s increased control (since the Nose Incident), Stiles and Derek had started letting him lift larger and larger objects. So when Derek showed up, the padawans were all very focused indeed, holding each other off the ground (a few but significant inches) using nothing but the Force. They were all soaked with sweat, but had been doing extraordinarily well, so Stiles gently prodded them through their bonds, and helped them ease each other to the forest floor. And told them to relax a little, while Derek briefed them all.

“Nothing concrete yet on the parties behind the threats,” He began. “There’s a small faction calling themselves the Enlightened who seem a little tense, but they are also the only group I’ve seen comprised of folks who were, traditionally, on opposing sides of the civil war. Truly everyone seems to be getting along reasonably well, considering the long, long history they have of hating each other.” Derek detailed the places he’d gone, and beings he had talked to that morning, all of whom seemed very optimistic about the celebration. If any were concerned, Derek hadn’t been able to get them to admit it, nor had he particularly picked up on any hidden anxieties, or lies. At least not in relation to the celebration.

Stiles nodded, unsurprised. He hadn’t picked up on much either, while he was down in the marketplace, and he could usually feel when something big was going to go down. He was naturally more attuned to the shifting patterns of the potential future, much more so than Derek, and that was part of why he’d wanted Derek to go down, by himself, without the distraction of their apprentices, and try another read on the situation.

“I did run into Lanctor again-"

"‘Second Primacy Assistant Quel-Alet Lanctor’," Stiles cut in, grinning unashamedly at his partner.

"Yes, him," Derek grumbled (but Stiles could Feel the smile). "He gave me the updated route for the procession. It’s long, but as we have discussed, it seems most likely that, if an attack does take place, it will happen in the city center towards the end of the procession. Depending on how dramatic this group decides to be.”

“Did you have a chance to discuss our security suggestions?”

Derek sighed.

“Somewhat, but the Minister for Safety and the Festival Security Chair were both otherwise occupied, and couldn’t be disturbed, apparently, so I laid out a few of them for our favorite Primacy Assistant, and told him to have them contact us if and when they became available.

Stiles sighed as well.

“Well, I suppose that’s what we were expecting at this stage.”

The silence that followed was not a comfortable one. Everyone could feel the tension, probably through body language as much as through the training bonds. Stiles wanted to help Derek relax and meditate; he could tell (as Derek probably knew himself, all too well) that he was unsure and that the Present felt as clouded to him right now as the Future usually did.

“Okay children,” Stiles said, relishing in the complaints that followed, breaking the tension as he knew they would, “I think tonight is a bonfire night. Since you were all so kind as to gather all that wood this morning,” the groans warmed his heart and, he could see, eased the tightness in Derek’s face a little bit, “let’s put some of it to use.”

The padawans grumbled and whined (or pouted stoically, depending on disposition) but obediently got up to go move all the wood they had so carefully arranged that morning. Stiles slid over to Derek, and laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Come on, Master Grumpy. We both know there’s nothing to be done at the moment, and maybe nothing to be done at all, until whatever might happen happens. So let’s try not to dwell tonight, huh?”

Derek leaned, gratefully, into Stiles’ hand for a moment, and then into his shoulder, and Stiles could feel the tension going out of him a little, as he felt its ease through their bond as well. After a few moments, they stood in unison and went to observe what was sure to be a mess, as the padawans (as was usual) failed to work as a proper team.

  


That night was subdued around the fire, the usual happy chatter and ribbing absent, so Stiles took it upon himself to start the meditation after they had finished the evening meal and cleaned up the mess.

He talked about the fire, about the way that it danced and moved, unpredictable most of the time, but based entirely upon very concrete variables like wind currents, and the way the wood was arranged, and which parts of the branches had more sap, were drier, got hotter. How, if only one could see all of those things, perfectly, one could know exactly how the flame would behave, predict it.

How that was the Force.

As they sat there, not speaking, staring into the bonfire, Stiles could feel them start to slip into meditation through the training bond. He could feel their connection to the Force open, as they began to let it course through them, falling into resonance with it, acknowledging the way it pulsed between all of them.

Knowing it was going well, and meeting Derek’s gaze from across the circle, Stiles closed his eyes and let himself follow.

While he was meditating, he tried to work on his awareness of the political situation of the planet. He let himself be as open to suggestion as he could be, knowing that actively seeking out information would only bring him whatever he was subconsciously looking for. He counted his breaths in sets of two, felt the hum and buzz of life all around him, the warmth and energy of the Force coursing through the trees and insects and small animals, through the precious beings surrounding him, through the many beings farther away down the hill. He let himself drift on the currents of intention and possibility, waiting for a sign, but all he could sense was green.

_We’re in a forest; how helpful._

He didn’t know how long he’d been down for, quite, but he was unusually stiff when Derek mentally nudged him and helped him drift upwards, back into his body and the present time. He started to groan, ready to complain about how long he’d been sitting there (no matter how long that happened to have been), but Derek shushed him and rolled his eyes, pointedly, toward the padawans.

Stiles stared a little, confused, before a grin broke across his face. On the other side of the fire, Boyd and Erica seemed to be asleep (and Stiles’ careful peek into his bonds with them confirmed that), curled up into each other. Next to them, Scott and Isaac… were making out.

 _I had wondered_ , Derek remarked, mentally, _when this would finally happen._

 _Wait, you knew? And you didn’t tell_ me _!?_

Stiles was properly annoyed, both that Derek hadn’t shared, and that he himself hadn’t picked up on whatever burgeoning thing Derek had (though he knew, intellectually, that that was one of Derek’s strengths)... but the feel of Derek’s mental laughter made it (always) impossible to stay unhappy. There had been a time when he thought the other Jedi never smiled, and was incapable of humor. The first time he’d ever laughed, audibly, in Stiles’ presence paled in Stiles’ memory only in comparison to the first time Derek had laughed in his _mind_ , in the midst of sex, when Stiles had flipped them unexpectedly (cheating and using the force to make up for his leaner musculature) and rolled himself right off the bed (and off of Derek, in more ways than one). Stiles had climbed back into bed, red-faced, and realized that the euphoria he was feeling wasn’t actually his.

It had felt like flying.

With that memory suddenly fresh, Stiles cast a second glance at the totally distracted padawans. Mind made up, Stiles carefully eased himself to his feet… and grabbed the back of Derek’s tunic, tugging him back towards the residence.

Stiles felt Derek’s surprise for a moment, and then the sudden intense sense of Derek, right there with him, following his train of thought and arriving at the same desire.

 _So we are just going to leave the apprentices to it, then?_ Derek queried, as they quietly slipped inside and headed for their room.

 _Why not? They did very well today. And it’s not like this sort of things is forbidden anymore. Sith, maybe this will even improve things._ Our _relationship certainly improved, once we dealt with that… tension._

Derek was not completely resolved on the subject, Stiles sensed, as they pulled lightly on the forced and felt their way towards their bed.

 _Come on, Derek. When we’re together,_ we’re _together. What’s bothering you?_

Derek was silent a moment, as he pulled off his tunic, and then started in on Stiles’.

 _Nothing, just… It was a training exercise. I- I’m not completely comfortable with them allowing themselves to become_ so _distracted, when they were supposed to be focused elsewhere._

It was Stiles’ turn to laugh.

 _Come on! How could they resist? The stars, and the life of the forest, the ambiance!_ Stiles waggled his eyebrows, knowing Derek would know he was doing it, even though they couldn’t see each other. _What were they supposed to do, feeling like that around the bonfire of looooove?_

_It was supposed to be the bonfire of ‘being mindful of the Living Force’._

Stiles tackled him, and proceeded to remind him that the two concepts needn’t be mutually exclusive.

 

Later, as they lay, sated, as in tune with each other as they ever were outside of deliberate Force Meditation, Stiles overheard Scott and Isaac talking. Derek was mostly asleep, relaxed and buzzing pleasantly, but the wind shifted, and Stiles suddenly found himself a little more alert as he caught some of the padawans’ conversation.

“I didn’t think he was going to be like this,” Scott was saying.

“Stiles?” Isaac asked.

“ _No_. I knew about Master Stiles. He was the one who identified me on Melkal-Inen and asked me if I wanted to be a Jedi, which, duh. And the first mistake I made, I was playing with a little furry sky rat and not watching where I was going, and I sort of was responsible for all his clean clothing being covered in mud. I expected him to be mad, you know, but he just had me wash his things, and then his landspeeder, to ‘improve my perspective on life’.”

“Oooh, yeah. Nice one.”

“But no. Master Hale. He’s the one I didn’t expect.”

“Oh. Yeah.”

“I mean, I know he’s grumpy, sometimes, and he doesn’t smile very much… but. You know. Knowing what happened.”

“Yeah,” Isaac agreed.

Stiles knew, intellectually, that the kids at the Praxeum talked. Of course they did. He did, while he was there, although there were far fewer of them then, and none of them were particularly children. But he hadn’t realized that Derek was still a subject of conversation. It made sense, he decided, once he thought about it though. Derek’s story was a pretty dramatic one. It probably made excellent food for gossip.

“I just, you know,” Scott continued, “I thought he’d be broodier, with the whole ‘fell in love with a Sith, somehow couldn’t tell she was a Sith, let her kill my family to try to turn me’ thing. That’s the kind of thing people brood about, don’t they? And don’t get over?”

To be fair, It had taken Derek a long time to get past that, from where Stiles was lying. The trust issues that Sith Bitch had left him with had been impressive. And it wasn’t just Derek’s ability to believe other people that was broken. Her manipulation of him, and his blindness to it, were probably the biggest factors in Derek developing such a complete an intense ability to be present with the Force. People flat-out couldn’t lie to Derek. Not only could he always tell, but most people found it extremely uncomfortable to lie to him in the first place.

But even more than destroying how Derek interacted with other beings, Stiles thought she had done a pretty good job of destroying Derek’s ability to trust himself. Even now that Derek was a Master, that almost every Jedi Stiles had seen Derek come into contact with in the last decade had trusted him implicitly, and respected him… Stiles knew that Derek’s biggest source of fear, the one he had the most trouble letting go, was the fear that Derek himself would fail. Derek was most afraid, Stiles was sure, that he would miss something (as he’d done once before, when he was young and scared and in love) and that other people would pay the price. Stiles considered Derek’s own self-worth one of the great missions, and the great privileges, of his own life.

“I think that’s something he struggles with,” Isaac said, clearly thinking along the same lines as Stiles. Stiles double-checked that his connection to Isaac was narrow and private and that he hadn’t been actively leaking anything across the bond-- but no. It was just the natural familiarity that came from what was now several years of working and learning together.

“But isn’t that what being a Jedi is?” Scott asked. “Surely a Master Jedi, even more than a Knight, is supposed to be calm all the time? And not get disturbed by things anymore? Isn’t that the whole, you know, fear/anger/regret/path to the dark side thing?”

Isaac was quiet for a moment, and Stiles was surprised to hear Boyd speak up.

“Being Jedi is not that black and white.”

Stiles opened his connections to his padawans a little further, curious to see where this conversation was going to go, and found Erica was also awake.

“Stiles- Master Stiles-” She cut in, “told us once, before you joined us, Scott, that he thinks that kind of thinking is part of why there are so few Jedi now, compared to a couple hundred years ago.”

“But,” Scott couldn’t resist, “I thought there were so few Jedi because they were all killed when the Empire took over? Isn’t that why Master Kenobi took Mast- Grandmast- Baby Master Luke, and hid?”

“Stiles says the Empire, and Palpatine, were only the efficient cause of the death of the Jedi Order.”

Scott must have looked confused (Stiles could Feel his confusion for certain) because Erica gave in and explained.

“The efficient explanation of an event is the agent which actively and consciously acted upon the raw materials and caused it to happen.” She recited. Stiles quite clearly remembered that lesson. She’d been so very, very bored… but it must have struck a chord with her after all. “A mechanic droid may be the efficient explanation for a ship, for instance, the one that actively builds the ship. But many other things and agents contribute to the ship being created, from the engineer who drafts the blueprint, to the solder holding the wiring of the steering console together.”

“I am the efficient cause of my lightsaber,” Boyd agreed, “but just because you know I built it, doesn’t mean you know everything about it. A mass-less blade that doesn’t radiate heat or expend energy, other than that emitted as visible light, until it comes into contact with something solid-- that’s the material explanation for my Lightsaber, what it is. A metal hilt, a power cell, modulation circuits, an energy gate, a blade emitter shroud, emitter matrix, an activator, and handgrip ridges are the formal explanation, the blueprint. And then there’s a final cause. The purpose of my lightsaber is to be a tool that helps me protect people, stop bad things from happening, defend myself and my team in a fight, and learn and work the will of the Force.”

Stiles smiled to himself, a wide, wide smile, and made a mental note to relay the conversation to Derek when they were next awake at the same time.

“So…” Scott began, clearly trying to put it all together.

“So the Old Jedi Order were destroyed, efficiently-”

“In more ways than one,” Isaac snarked. Erica ignored him.

“- _efficiently_ , by the Empire, Palpatine, that whole mess. But Stiles has a theory that the fall of the Jedi order was coming already, and that it had more to do with the Formal and Final explanations of the actual order, than with the Empire at all.”

“... Darth Vader?” Scott asked.

“Kind of,” Isaac allowed, clearly ignoring Erica’s annoyance, which he must have been able to feel since _Stiles_ could feel it, as far away as he was.

“ _Kind of_ ,” Erica growled, “but again _efficient cause_. Anakin Skywalker may have held the lightsaber, may have decided to become Darth Vader, but other people taught him what he knew, and manipulated him, and helped or hurt him. Stiles’ says…” She paused, losing her steam a little. Stiles understood. He hadn’t initially intended to have this conversation with the padawans, when it had come up the last time. So many of the Jedi from that time period were great and wise and benevolent beings in their own right, and it was far easier to criticize from his vantage point, years and years later. And even if they had made mistakes, they certainly hadn't deserved to die for them, like that. But he couldn’t help putting the pieces together… and apparently it had resonated with those apprenticed to him.

“Stiles says,” she finally continued, and Stiles could Feel Boyd and Isaac both sending her encouragement. He was almost sure they were in physical contact with her. “He says he thinks that the biggest reason Anakin Skywalker turned to the dark side was the Jedi Order itself, and the practices that were commonplace then. He says that the Order was too inflexible, and that’s why they could only take in children--- that anyone else they took in would have too much trouble being- being indoctrinated.”

“For as many Jedi who strayed from the Order’s rules and turned to the Dark Side,” Boyd added, “And sought power, and took advantage, and hurt people, there were just as many who strayed, but were still kind and gentle and benevolent and all the things that the Old Order claimed to be. But they couldn’t follow the rules, or didn’t think the rules were worth following.”

“Exactly,” said Erica, “But Anakin Skywalker didn’t have that chance. Between how harsh the Older Jedi, and the Jedi Council, were about their very narrow rules, and the way the Palpatine manipulated him, Anakin didn’t think he had anywhere else to turn, and he had no experience with the dark side of the Force, and he fell in with the worst kind of dark force-user.”

“But,” Scott asked, “If the problem was that Anakin Skywalker was too old to learn to follow the rules, then why didn’t the same thing happen to Grandmaster Skywalker?”

“Call him Luke,” Isaac said, fondness leaking into his voice and the bonds.

“Okay. Did Master Kenobi just not teach him all of the rules, or…?”

“So Anakin Skywalker was a slave before Masters Jinn and Kenobi found him on Tatooine, right?” Scott must have nodded, because Erica continued quickly. “And he was separated from his mother, who was still a slave, and he was thrown into battle, and Master Jedi were dying around him, and he was having visions of his mother being hurt, and then he fell in love… And he was a kid, and a teenager, and our age. And so Stiles’ theory is that he had never learned how to deal with any of his emotions, and the Jedi never taught him that either, and so his emotions ruled him.”

“It makes sense,” Isaac agreed. “When a person lives in an environment where they’re not allowed to show that they feel things, they get very good at pretending that they don’t feel things at all. That keeps you out of trouble,” and Stiles wondered if anyone else noticed the pronoun shift, “but it doesn’t actually stop you from feeling things. Some day, if you survive that long, those feelings come out. Anakin Skywalker,” and there was a little bit of anger coming through Isaac’s end of the bond, now, “he traded one set of masters for another. He went from a dangerous, abusive environment where he couldn’t react to things without endangering himself or his mother, to a cold and demanding environment where he was shamed and punished for reacting to things as a child would… even though they all knew he had never learned how to handle that as an actual child. Anakin Skywalker’s Jedi Masters were as responsible for him never learning balance as anything else that had ever happened to him.”

There was a long silence, and Stiles could feel everyone thinking hard, through their bonds.

“But Luke was older,” Boyd finally continued, regrounding the conversation, “and although life wasn’t easy for him, and there was tragedy, he was never a slave. He learned about himself, how to handle his own emotions, how to control his own behavior, how to be healthy… he learned all of those things before he was asked to become a Jedi. There was anger for him, but there was also happiness, and friendship, and humor, and compassion. He was balanced, from the beginning, and could choose how he would react. And he did.”

Stiles was often proud of their padawans, and it was times like these that made him particularly proud.

“So, when Masters talk about bringing balance to the Force…”

“It’s not always dark side against light side,” Erica concluded. “Especially under Master Luke’s new teachings, it’s more about finding balance in each Jedi.”

“Like Derek does,” Boyd agreed.

“So it’s not that he isn’t affected by what happened to him,” Isaac finally said, bringing the conversation back full-circle. “It’s just that he has learned how to deal with it, and handle it, so he doesn’t _have_ to dwell on it all the time.”

“He’s a Master, but he’s still a person?” Scott asked, amusement clear in his voice and his cheerful pulse of energy.

“Exactly. Also,” Isaac continued, and Stiles suddenly felt like an eavesdropper for the first time since the conversation began, “I think having Stiles helps. It’s unusual to have two Jedi work so closely together who aren’t master and padawan, and even though there are no stipulations against it anymore, few Jedi take lovers, especially other Jedi. There has to be something…  very strong there, for most to be willing to start something so complicated.”

Stiles could almost feel all of his padawans blushing, and decided that was his cue to withdraw, ignore any further conversation, and join Derek in sleep.

If the apprentices wanted to start tomorrow’s training exhausted, that was totally their own decision.

  


The week proceeded in much the same way for the small band of Jedi. They would rise in the morning and one of the Masters would head into the city while the other stayed with the padawans and initiated lessons. As a treat, some evenings, they would all head into the city together, both to enjoy the festival and market, and to see if a greater concentration of force-sensitives might be able to turn up a lead working together that the masters alone could not.

The second to last day of the festival was a particularly rough one, as far as training was concerned.

At least for Stiles.

Derek was on intelligence gathering duty, for all the good it seemed to be doing them, so Stiles was on padawan duty. Stiles was now certain that something was going to happen at the festival the next day, but he still couldn’t put his finger on what, who, or where. Everyone was feeling the strain, and so when they’d all clearly failed to meditate the stress away, Stiles decided to exhaust them. He ran them through physical exercises, and then sparring, and then Force exercises, and then made them run again. Finally, they began working on the group levitation exercise again. Stiles had been concerned that they didn’t have the concentration for it any more that day, so he’d joined them, figuring he could feel through the training bonds if someone was about to be dropped and he’d be able to catch them before anyone got hurt.

And then Derek popped out of the bushes.

And Scott dropped Erica.

Stiles had been waiting for it, though, and caught her before she’d fallen hardly at all.  But it had been enough of a fall to startle her.

And she dropped Stiles.

He landed hard, on his ass, and tried to pretend the laughter was all coming from his young, naive padawans, and not at all from his asshole partner whose fault the whole mess was anyway.

Still sore and smarting after dinner, Stiles had tried to take a bath, only to find out the plumbing was suddenly non-functional.

Fuming in a way most unbecoming to a Jedi, he decided he was taking a bath _anyway_ , and if it had to be in a river, then so be it and Derek was not invited. He gathered up his things and stomped down the hill.

It was almost full dark by that time, and their little cabin was secluded., so Stiles was fairly certain no one was going to object if he just swam naked. He stripped, laid his things out on a rock, and dove in.

It was cooler than he expected, mountain run-off always was, but as it was full summer, the temperature was a lovely change. Stiles swam for a little while, lazy strokes back and forth, letting his stresses seep away, and then he wedged himself against a rock and decided to meditate for a little while.

He was right on the edge of finding something, he was sure, when a snuffling noise caught his ear, and the sense of other life forms drawing nearer lifted him from his trance. He opened his eyes, and spotted several of the soft-furred, wet-nosed creatures he’d been distracted by in the city so many times. Evidently, they survived just fine in the forest, as well as on the scraps from the city.

He watched with amusement (they were adorable; he hoped Scott didn’t try to bring any home with them) as they sniffed around his discarded clothing, tails wagging. There were three of the little things, lightly pawing at Stiles’ tunic. He wondered if they were drawn to it because it smelled like the food they’d made for dinner, his day-old summer sweat, or a combination of two. He considered poking Derek, and inviting him down to take a look at the cute fuzzballs…

Who all sank their teeth into his clothing and took off.

Stiles was so surprised, it took him a moment to react, and then he shot straight up out of the water, and took off after them. But he was distracted, and slid on the algae-coated rocks, and went down again. He came up spluttering, knowing the beasts were _getting away with his clothes why did this shit always happen to him_ , so he threw his hands out and tried to force-pull the creatures back in range. Their feet left the ground and Stiles grinned in triumph… and, in unison, they all snapped open wings they’d kept folded close to their bodies, Stiles hadn’t even seen, and they flew off.

With his clothes.

Stiles floated, panting, in the water for a moment, trying to decide what to do. His boots and lightsaber were all still lying beside the rock, conveniently on the far side from where the creatures had approached… but it wasn’t like he’d brought any _other secret_ spare clothing to the river with him. He briefly considered prodding Derek again, this time to get him to bring stiles clothes… and then he pictured how Derek would laugh, and he wouldn’t even get to hear it, but it would wake up the padawans, and then they would _all_ laugh, and Stiles would still be wet and naked and in a river.

So, still grumpy and somehow almost as sore as when he’d started, Stiles rinsed himself off and waded out of the river. He inspected the rock carefully before sitting on it, thank Force for full moons (just two, on this planet), and slowly shook his wet feet dry and slid on his boots.

Once shod, he started the long trek back up the hill.

And immediately sensed that he was no longer alone.

“Uh, nice night for a swim, yeah?” He quipped, turning halfway, as two individuals in dark green tunics stared at him with open mouths from a across the stream. Probably they had been walking along it, enjoying a moonlit stroll, when he had popped up, naked, from behind his rock, and rudely interrupted them.

“Uh, don’t mind me, folks, just, you know, meditating. Doing Jedi things.”

The slightly taller person spoke up then.

“Are you lost, Sir Jedi? Do you need directions?”

Stiles couldn’t make out much about the two people upstream from him, other than that they both had dark complexions (or were in shadow), and dark hair, and the long, dark green tunics. And wide, wide eyes.

“Nope, I’m fine. Right where I want to be. So. I’ll just be going. Have fun at the festival!”

Stiles very pointedly did not run. He also refused to act like he thought he needed to cover himself up. Not all cultures had the same rules for modestly anyway, and neither clutching at himself (he was still holding his lightsaber, and always made a point of keeping it a good distance away from his junk) nor… bouncing, was going to add to his dignity, just at that moment.

When Derek found out, because of course he was going to, he was going to pee himself, Stiles was sure.

He made his way back safely, encountering neither flying furry clothes thieves nor poor innocent locals, and quietly slipped into the residence. The padawans all seemed to be resting soundly, and Stiles continued on back to his and Derek’s room. He left his boots beside the door, his lightsaber on the table beside the bed, and fumbled through his pack a little, looking for a spare set of underclothes. Triumphantly (but quietly) he pulled some free and pulled them on, and just the small pair of pants made him feel significantly less vulnerable, and better about the whole evening.

Deciding the Force simply had a strange sense of humor, Stiles wiggled his way under the covers (which Derek, thoughtful partner that he was, had left turned back on Stiles’ usual side of the bed). Derek was on his side, facing Stiles, and he cracked one eye open as Stiles shifted around.

_Come on, aren’t you ready to settle down yet?_

_You’re supposed to be asleep!_

_I_ was _asleep until you stuck your cold fingers into my elbow. Stay still and I’ll get you warm._

Stiles decided that it was okay that he’d made a fool of himself. All that really mattered to him, as he finally let himself drift off, were the kids in the next room, and the Jedi in his bed. Those locals could just take their shock and--

_Locals._

_... hmm?_

_They were awfully far from town, on the far side of the river, and coming_ down _from the mountain. Why would they be on that side of the river? Why would they be on that side of_ us _?_

 … _I’ve missed something._

_Derek, there aren’t any other towns, further up the mountain, are there?_

_... I don’t think so, not on any maps I’ve seen. And the folks in the market talk about how unique the capitol is for being at such a high elevation, even though it’s lower than we are, in that little valley._

Stiles started to reply when he heard it, the crack of a stick where no stick should be cracking. Instantly, Derek was on alert as well. Together, they reached out through the force, searching for--

 _There! Two large life forms, just outside the door, and one more out at the treeline_.

_Padawans! We have company! On your guard!_

The Masters threw back their covers, hands going automatically for their 'sabers. In a moment, they were in the main room with their 'sabers powered up.

And the front door swung open.

The fight was very short. The intruders had knives, which Derek immediately sensed were poisoned, which meant that all the Jedi knew it in a moment. The assassins, because they could hardly be anything else, had not expected to meet resistance when they’d departed the city, and meeting Stiles at the river has just made them desperate. They were out of time, and outnumbered, and they knew it, but they had to try.

There were six Jedi, though.

Despite the mental warning, Stiles and Derek were still faster than the padawans, of course. They moved in perfect synchronicity, throwing out a hand each, drawing on the force to shove the two figures back and off balance, following them through the doorway feet first, hitting the attackers squarely at center mass.

The padawans came vaulting over them a moment later, streaking off into the trees after the last assassin.

Stiles and Derek disarmed their gasping opponents and flipped them over. Stiles powered down his own saber, wedging it into the waistband at the small of his back, and started binding hands (using the assassins’ own tunics, since both masters were wearing nothing but their underwear) by the bright blue glow of the moons and his partner’s lightsaber.  

 

A short while later, the padawans returned dragging (none too gently) a third green-tunicced bastard behind them.

The Masters’ captives had so far been silent, glaring from their (now more secure) place, bound (with actual cord) and laying against the wall. Stiles had left them with Derek for a moment and fetched rope and two pairs of pants, so he figured he and Derek were slightly more intimidating, now.

The third fellow was happy to talk, it seemed, even tied to a chair.

“You think you do good work, away in your temple? You know nothing of the suffering of the worlds! This planet has too long been ruled! It is time we ruled ourselves! The Enlightened will succeed, we cannot fail! We are the people of Quinniul II. We _are_ Quinniul II!”

He struggled and shook, and tossed his head, but it was the light in his eyes that discomfited stiles. Whoever this fellow was, he was no weak-minded toady.

“Interesting Ideas,” Stiles acknowledged, “We’re always happy to learn. Why don’t you tell us who your boss is, and we can have a nice, long sit-down with him and work things out. What do you say?”

The man spit in Stiles face.

In an instant, although far slower than he could have, if he wanted to, Derek had his lightsaber extended and arcing through the air. Stiles had a moment to watch the man’s eyes get wide as the blade came for him, watch him shrink back as his face was bathed in blue light-

And then Stiles caught Derek’s saber on his own.

The hiss and crackle of energy was always loud, that close, and small flares and sparks arced from where the green blade crossed the blue. Several landed on the man’s tunic, and they smoked a little, as they burned the fabric, but he didn’t move.

“Now, Jedi Master Derek,” Stiles said in a falsely gentle tone, “I thought we talked about this. Just because the man was rude to me, that’s no reason to part his head from his body.”

Derek relaxed very obviously, and allowed Stiles to push his saber away.

“Come on, let’s give him another chance,” Stiles continued, “I’m sure he can be reasonable.”

And Stiles smiled at the sweating man, smiled a smile that he’d used to excellent effect, many times before, a smile that told the observer just how deranged Stiles probably was… and reminded them that he was the _safe_ half of the pair.

 

Sixteen hours later, they had Second Primacy Assistant Quel-Alet Lanctor in custody, and were sitting on a rocky outcropping, watching a beautiful spiral of lanterns proceed towards the city center.

“I’m gonna miss this planet,” Scott said quietly, from his perch on a rock, overlooking the city.

“You’re gonna miss the strappy boots,” Isaac countered, and then pulled Scott in for a kiss.

“ _I’m_ gonna miss this planet,” Stiles suggested.

“Why?” Derek asked, brows together in confusion. “the bath didn’t even work, I wouldn’t let you buy the murder-nuts, and you had one of your better tunics stolen by flying rodents.”

“They weren’t rodents! They were bigger! And cute.  … and you were supposed to be asleep for that!”

“You think I could sleep with how loudly you were projecting ‘ _flying thief vermin! Come back here and show me what you’re made of! Furry cowards!_ ’ It’s a wonder even Boyd could sleep through that.”

“... Okay. Maybe I won’t miss this planet _particularly.”_

There was silence for a moment, as they all watched the foremost lanterns reach the center of the spiral.

“I will miss this planet,” Boyd finally said, “it has a good energy. Even with all the terrible things that have happened here… it feels like it’s healing.”

 _He’s right,_ Derek said, in Stiles’ mind, _there’s a lot of healing going on on this planet._

And they watched the lights.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> If you dug it, Leave us a comment or kudos! We are Sarcasm & Sourwolves. :) Our other pieces for this challenge, fics, vids, and comics, [ can be found here!](http://sterekshelter.tumblr.com/tagged/team:-sarcasm-&-sourwolves)
> 
> Also, I have to admit, I'm feeling the urge to work more/revisit this verse in the future, do many many other scenes from Sterek's own apprenticeships or scenes from these padawans' journeys... holler if y'all'd like that or have ideas. :)


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